Chapter 2900: New Journey (6)

The candidate officers' quarters held four men to a room — a world away from the old days when a whole platoon was bunked down together. No more double-decker bunks: a loft bed now, with a desk underneath, and a wardrobe and locker for every man, larger than anything from his sergeant days. The room had been swept spotless. The luggage shipped over from Lingao had not only arrived but been unpacked and squared away, everything resting exactly where the regulations said it belonged.

He looked around at arrangements nothing short of impeccable, and had no idea what to do with himself. Every bunk in the place was made up — all of them taken, presumably? And what sort of men would his roommates turn out to be?

While Tan Shuangxi stood half-dazed before his immaculately stowed luggage, footsteps sounded outside the door, along with the voices of young men trading jokes.

"Finally got that skin peeled off me — bounced on horseback all day, my hips feel ready to come apart at the joints..."

"Thank heavens the water heater's fixed. Daily cold washes were getting to be too much."

The door swung open, and three young officers in the same service uniforms, close enough in age to be brothers, filed in one after another with basins and towels in hand.

The one in front was tall and swarthy, a flash of white teeth when he grinned — the voice from just now. Behind him came a man of medium build with a mild, scholarly face. The last to enter was stocky and thick through the shoulders, and came in without a word.

All three stopped short at the sight of Tan Shuangxi standing in the room. The tall one recovered first, his grin widening. "Hey! Our fourth brother's arrived? You're Tan Shuangxi, right? Word came down from the training squadron — said our room was getting a new man today."

Tan Shuangxi snapped to attention and instinctively started to salute, then remembered they were all candidate officers now; his hand dropped halfway up, and he nodded with a touch of awkwardness. "Yes — Tan Shuangxi. Just assigned to this room. Sorry to intrude."

"Intrude? From here on we're brothers feeding out of the same trough!" The tall one crossed the room in two strides and clapped Tan Shuangxi warmly on the shoulder. "I'm Han Zhongying — used to be a platoon leader in the National Army's Jeju garrison. Infantry convert, same as you." He thumbed his own chest. "Got here a week ahead of you, which makes me half an 'old hand.'"

The scholarly man stepped up and offered his hand, all friendliness. "Shao Rui." His hand was clean, the fingers long, the grip measured.

"He's a volunteer," Han Zhongying said, never at a loss for words. "Finished junior primary school! Turned down any number of jobs in Hainan just to come soldier."

Shao Rui looked a little sheepish under the introduction. "I just thought soldiering would be interesting. You see the world."

At "volunteer" and "seeing the world," Tan Shuangxi thought, he couldn't say why, of Tan Haonan. Something jolted in his chest; he steadied himself and smiled. "Soldiering and fighting are no easy thing..."

"I know. I've served six months with the Shandong Detachment. It suits me well enough," Shao Rui said. "Getting into the candidate officer course — I couldn't be happier..."

The stocky one was plainly the steady, sparing type. His voice came out low. "Yirden." He spoke in clipped syllables, let his gaze rest on Tan Shuangxi's face a moment, and gave a single nod — that was the greeting.

"He's a Jurchen," Han Zhongying said with a grin. "Speaks Chinese. Used to be a barbarian trooper in the Ming army, later surrendered to the Senate. Came out of the Shandong Detachment's auxiliary cavalry squadron."

Ming-army stock, and a Jurchen at that — Tan Shuangxi couldn't help stealing a few extra looks. He'd seen plenty of Ming soldiers and a handful of Mongols, but this was the first Jurchen ever to stand in front of him.

"...His name means 'third,' so everybody just calls him Old Third. Fits, as it happens — he was the third to arrive in our room."

"Then I'm Old Fourth." Tan Shuangxi laughed and gave his own particulars. "Tan Shuangxi, infantry sergeant first class out of First Infantry Battalion — acted as platoon leader for a spell."

"First Battalion? Fought on the mainland? Impressive!" Han Zhongying's eyes lit up. He dragged over the chair at the empty bunk by the door and sat astride it backward, arms crossed on the backrest. "The three of us — Little Shao's done six months of garrison duty, holed up patrolling the Willow Palisade day in and day out; I've been housekeeping here on Jeju; Old Third here has seen his share of action, but his Chinese doesn't run smooth, and it all happened in Shandong besides. But you've been to the Two Guangs — come on, tell us how the mainland campaign went!"

This was a common enough request. Tan Shuangxi launched into some of his fighting on the continent, and all three of them ate it up.

"You were infantry, weren't you?" Shao Rui asked. "What put it into your head to switch to cavalry? It's a hard row to hoe."

"Weren't you infantry yourself?" Tan Shuangxi returned.

"I just thought cavalrymen looked sharper..." Shao Rui said, a bit abashed. "Mostly it's that you don't have to walk."

"Good grief — for that?" Tan Shuangxi laughed, deciding this young man was a genuine curiosity, and turned to Han Zhongying. "And you? You were a platoon leader in the National Army — that already made you an officer, no?"

Han Zhongying grinned. "No future in the National Army! You've got to get into the Fubo Army to get anywhere. Otherwise you're standing duty on this island till the cows come home — what year would you ever make rank?"

If you were in the National Army in Guangdong, Tan Shuangxi thought, you might not find it so easy to say. He smiled and looked over at Yirden. "And you?"

"Promotion." Yirden's answer was nothing if not direct. "Stuck in Shandong — no fighting to be had."

"Good grief, you don't mince words," Shao Rui said, laughing.

"What kind of soldier doesn't want promotion?" A faint smile crossed Yirden's face. "I've got no ties holding me here. Soldiering, for me, is rank and riches — money to spend! When the Senate takes the throne, I'll bask in the glow along with everyone else."

That piqued Tan Shuangxi's curiosity. "How does a Jurchen end up in the Ming army? Weren't you..."

"Right. I was an armored man of the Great Jin before, and so was my father." Evidently he had answered this question many times. "My family served the Old Khan from my grandfather's day on. The trouble was, we followed the Great Beile Chu Ying..."

Neither Tan Shuangxi nor anyone else present knew the first thing about how Nurhaci had risen, and so none of them knew who Chu Ying was. Still, from Yirden's telling they got the broad shape of it.

"...The Great Beile came to grief, and my family went down with him! With punishment staring us in the face, Father had no choice but to run for it, taking me along. We went to Jinzhou and signed on with the Ming army — sold our lives for a bowl of rice." He sighed, glum. "My mother and several of my sisters are still in Liaodong. Heaven knows which beile's household collected them."

"When the Senate fights its way to Liaodong, they'll surely find your people," Tan Shuangxi comforted him.

"One hopes so." Yirden kept his indifferent air. "The Senate fights well enough, but the Great Ming still stands in between. Who knows what year the armies reach Liaodong — that's a donkey's-years-away sort of thing!"

Seeing the mood sink, Tan Shuangxi turned the subject. "You came up in the saddle — your riding must be first-rate. When you've time, give me plenty of pointers!"

"A small matter!" Yirden smiled. "But you and I ride different roads. It may not be of use to you."

Seeing Tan Shuangxi's puzzlement, Han Zhongying explained: "Old Third is bound for the heavy dragoons. Not the same thing as us at all."

"What? Heavy dragoons?" Tan Shuangxi was lost. "Dragoons are dragoons — since when is there a 'heavy'?"

"Mm." Shao Rui nodded. "They're called heavy dragoons, but really they're cataphracts."

Seeing that the word drew blank faces all around, Shao Rui explained: "Cataphracts — cavalry with armor on the man and on the horse both."

Yirden slapped his thigh. "Now I understand — the White Bayara. Picked men for breaking an enemy line."

"More or less the idea." Shao Rui said — then something occurred to him, and he turned to Tan Shuangxi. "You still haven't told us why you came over to cavalry!"

The directness embarrassed Tan Shuangxi a little. He sat down on the edge of the bunk and thought before he spoke. "No grand calculation, really. It's just... the Senate is raising a new arm and it needs men, and I wanted to learn more myself. I've fought plenty of battles as infantry — but cavalry, I only ever knew from the receiving end of a charge. Never tried doing the charging. The chance came along, and I thought I'd take it." He paused, then added, "The Chiefs did say, of course, that dragoons need men with infantry experience who can also move mounted."

"Now that's honest talk!" Han Zhongying slapped his thigh. "This 'dragoon' business of ours — sounds glorious, but the way I see it, you've got to ride like the wind and then get down and slug it out on foot. Old Third, I hear the Manchu Qing often had their cavalry dismount and fight on foot as well. Same sort of idea?"

Yirden pondered a moment. "The White Bayara did dismount to fight on foot — but mostly where the ground worked against horsemen. On open, easy ground, a charge on horseback plainly does better. It's not quite the same thing as the Fubo Army's dragoons."

"These past days I've heard Chief Yang set out some of the essentials of dragoons," Tan Shuangxi said. "He says that on top of everything cavalry does, the key is fast mobility — it's most useful of all for seizing key ground and forming a new line on it. The crux is the 'transition' — ride to the fight, dismount and form up. The timing has to be caught dead-on."

They were still talking when a "Reporting!" sounded outside.

At the word, an orderly entered — eighteen or nineteen at most, in army service uniform, a private second class's insignia at his collar. In his arms lay a neat stack of clothing, an officer-pattern cap resting on top.

"Reporting, sir! Your personal clothing and issued articles from the academy supply department, for your inspection." The boy's voice carried that particular clarity of youth, but his bearing was all precision, his back plank-straight.

Tan Shuangxi scrambled to his feet, suddenly at a complete loss. In five years of army life he had always queued at the quartermaster's store himself, or taken his issue handed down by the squad leader — since when had anyone ever delivered it to his bunk? He reached out instinctively, thought better of it, and his hand hung in midair.

"Just... just set it down here. Much obliged." Tan Shuangxi struggled to keep his voice natural.

"No trouble at all, sir!" The orderly's reply came crisp, and he began itemizing. "Your service uniform, one; field uniforms, two; stable dress, two — squadron regulations require dedicated stable dress for horse care and daily fatigues, to preserve the service uniform."

The deep-blue candidate officer's uniform was a clear cut above a soldier's kit — cloth thick and crisp, brass buttons polished to a shine. The stable dress was hard-wearing coarse cotton, simply cut. Besides these came the full run of accessories — equipment belt, leather shoes, spare puttees, gloves — down to a small tin of boot polish and two clothes brushes.

"And your personal toiletries, writing kit, and the Cadet Handbook and Supplementary Provisions to the Interior Service Regulations." From his satchel the orderly produced a few sundries and two slim booklets and squared them neatly beside the clothing. "I am Orderly Mao Zhenjiang. Whatever you require, sir, just give the word and I'll see it done."

Han Zhongying grinned wide. "Not bad, Old Tan — moving up in the world! Mind you take care of that stable dress. It's all you've got for the curry-comb and the mucking-out, and it wears through fast."

Shao Rui smiled too. "You can't know an officer's perks until you're one, I suppose."

Looking at that heap of brand-new things on the desk that actually belonged to him, Tan Shuangxi felt something strange well up in him. That "sir" had made his ears burn — he was still only a cadet, a long road short of a real officer.

"Mao Zhenjiang? Now there's a name with spine!" Tan Shuangxi quipped, to cover his discomfort.

"He started out as Mao Shisan," Han Zhongying said, grinning. "A hereditary soldier from Zhenjiang Fort — that's how he came to be called Mao Zhenjiang."

"Nothing more for me here. Go and see to your duties."

"Yes, sir!" The orderly snapped to attention and saluted, clean as a whistle, then turned on his heel and marched out.

The door clicked softly shut. Tan Shuangxi stood where he was, looking at the pile on the desk, not touching it for a while. In the old unit, only battalion and company commanders had an orderly of their own; a platoon leader made do with his own two hands. His status had not changed yet, but the treatment quietly had — and it sat strangely on him.

Han Zhongying saw his embarrassment and clapped his shoulder. "You'll get used to it. We carry the 'candidate officer' title — by the book, that means officer's treatment. What's there to be shy about?" He picked up the service jacket and gave it a shake. "Well now — decent cloth. Try it on, see if it fits. If it doesn't, better to swap it early."

Only then did Tan Shuangxi reach out and take the clothes. The wool sat heavy in his hands, smelling the way new cloth does. As he rubbed the smooth brass buttons, that small discomfort in his chest gave way, little by little, to an equally weighty sense of duty — none of this came free. On the training ground, in the saddle, and one day on the battlefield, he would have to prove worthy of this uniform — and of that "sir," premature though it was, so full of expectation.

"You won't get many chances to wear it, mind," Shao Rui said. "It's field dress and stable dress trading off, all day long." Then something struck him. "Old Tan — drawn your tack yet? If not, I'll walk you to the stores presently. That saddle wants choosing with care. Find an old one, broken in soft. A brand-new one will flay the skin right off the inside of your thighs."

Just then a bugle call came mellow and long from outside. Han Zhongying grabbed his cap. "Come on — chow time!"

(End of chapter)